


the difference between shooting stars and satellites

by nonbeaunary



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: All the bad kids, Canon-Typical Violence, Descriptions of Coming Out, Extremely Brief Mention of Homophobia, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbeaunary/pseuds/nonbeaunary
Summary: Its a long drive back to Elmville from the Forest of the Nightmare King. In the sleepy blanket compartments of the Hangvan's Hallow, the bad kids come to terms with all they've dealt with.
Relationships: Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth, Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey
Comments: 31
Kudos: 116





	1. a long drive

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've ever posted, and truly the most creative writing I've done for several centuries. I've been a longtime fandom lurker, but I've found myself in desperate need of comforting thoughts, so I decided to write these out and post in the hope that someone else may be in need of the same thing. I wanted to capture the feeling of the drive home after a long trip with your friends, and the unique sleepiness and weird sadness you feel. That became combined with thinking about how the bad kids were coping with the events of sophmore year, and then i ended up here. Title is from "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie. please come say hi at my d&d tumblr sideblog @nonbeaunary <3

The plush upholstery of the van’s seats have been soaking in the warmth of the sun all day, and as day turns to evening and the air outside grows chill, the seats remain a comforting warmth on their backs. A quiet acoustic playlist is on, has been on, joining in with the sound of the engine and the road passing under them. Riz has taken up vigil in the passenger seat, talking to Gorgug and navigating. His crystal with fantasy map quest rests on his knee as he sits cross-legged in the seat, fulfilling the sacred duty of The Passenger- keep the driver awake, navigate, and man the tunes. They’d been switching out who was in the passenger seat- Gorgug was the only one with a full license of the bad kids, and none of the adults were in any condition to be driving.

  
Just behind where Riz and Gorgug are quietly chatting, Fabian sits in the first row of seats, leaning his head against the cool window. He, like most of the van’s denizens, is drifting in and out of the ethereal plane, not quite asleep, but not awake either. Occasionally, he tunes in and chimes into The Ball’s and Gorgug’s conversation, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the center divider to prop his head up. Its not the most comfortable position, but at least he can see the road stretching out in front of them and hear the voices of two of his very best friends in the world. When he gets too sleepy to pay attention to the conversation, he leans back to the comforting warmth of the bench seat and lets his gaze drift out to the dusk-filled sky. The hangman is driving alongside the van, and when he sees his master lean up against the window, he shifts over in the neighbouring lane and revs his engine reassuringly to let Fabian know that he is faithfully alongside him, even while he rests.

  
On the other two sections of the frontmost bench seat, separated from Fabian by the magically procured blanket walls of the Hallow lie Kristen and Tracker. With the curtain drawn, their section is about the size of a small train compartment, with a comfy futon. Even in its folded couch form, the futon is long enough to lie down and stretch out their legs. The window still shows the highway passing by, and if they were to open the curtain, their haven would once again just be the first row of bench seats in an old van, but for know they occupy their own quiet corner of space. Kristen is sitting up against the window, with trackers head in her lap. Tracker was in no state to start all of the emotional unpacking they needed to do together. She had tried to get some of it off her chest, but the feeling of letting go felt too much like losing control, felt too much like when she was forced into wolf form and leapt at Kristen, fangs bared and bloody. The stuttered apologies and broken sobs had been granted their space, and when her eyes had cleared, she found herself pulled close to her lover. A dark purple blanket smattered with silvery stars had been procured from the divine blanket fort of the hallow and bundled in Kristen’s lap. Trackers rich brown hair was spread out, Kristen’s fingers carding through it gently. Although Kristen herself was exhausted, in this moment she felt Tracker’s fragility, so easily hidden behind her strong frame and brave words. The image of the vengeful feral Tracker, as well as the terrified tearful tracker that arrived after the spell was broken kept her awake. The steady rise and fall of Tracker’s shoulders held her focus- she was afraid that if she closed her eyes for a moment this Tracker- her friend, her lover- her Tracker would disappear again. And so The Saint kept vigil.

  
Behind Fabian on the second row of bench seats in the clunky old van is Ragh, listening to his mother’s voice on the phone. The deep-rooted exhaustion on his face is only overwritten by his relief. He is well over on minutes, but he couldn’t care less. Hearing her voice in his ear as he watches the landscape of Solace flash by. They’ve been talking for long enough that there’s no longer anything of real import being said. Lydia is telling him about all the tiny details of her day- what she’s baked, what the neighbours have been up to, how her latest sewing project is going. He listens with a smile on his face, relaxing into the warm embrace of her words.

  
Next to Ragh, Adaine and Aelwen are another world away in their own inter-dimensional blanket compartment. For a long time they’ve just been crying- exhausted, beyond burnt out, tired. Embodying the loss of their father, their mother, their childhood, their lives. No matter the trauma they went through, there is still grief for the part of your life that no longer exists. They each suffocate in their own grief, until a hand is extended- a pale shaking one that pulls Aelwen into an awkward side hug. The side hug becomes a full-fledged bear hug when Aelwen reaches out in response, putting herself fully in the arms of her baby sister. Finally, a safe harbour for her. For them both.

  
In the far back of the van, where the quiet conversations and music don’t reach, the bench seat is four-wide and full of to the brim of sleeping, interconnected forms. Gilear, head back, mouth open. His neck is propped up by a cheap airplane pillow from a gas station in Bastion City. The unicorn patterned plush is working overtime to prevent his neck from being sore when he wakes, but its effectiveness is inhibited by the oversized foam headphones that cover his elven ears. They’re connected to his crystal, listening to an audiobook (purchased for only 1 gold off the gift card, due to a promo code he heard on a podcast) entitled “You are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life”. He feel asleep before the first chapter had even begun. Next to him, Sandra Lynn. She too is passed out from exhaustion and will most certainly have a sore neck when she awakes, but it will have been worth it, as she rests with her head against her daughter’s shoulder. At some point Fig had grown taller than her, resulting in both her shoulders being a comfortable height for a head rest and a panicked realization at how fast time was progressing. For now, she sleeps peacefully, finally free from the nightmares. With her mother resting on her shoulder and her lover curled up against her side, Fig rests peacefully in the far back corner of the van. She connects them, she holds them up. She is a constant in their lives, and none of them would have it any other way.

  
After many, many long hours, they pull into the gravel driveway and Gorgug cuts the motor off. As he sits for a moment of rest after the long nights drive, there is only the sound of the crickets and other night-time creatures now awake, and the pale moon high in the sky casting a silvery glow over the van. The stillness hangs for an endless moment, as if they could all live here in this moment, safe and warm and with the ones they loved, forever. And they would deserve it, if not for the nightmares they had endured in the past week, but for all the grief they carried on their young shoulders. The grief of growing, of learning about yourself, the world, your parents, the unavoidable grief of life whose shadows juxtapose the gleams of youth. But right now, they don’t have to worry about that, because Jawbone has come out to the van and is gently shaking them awake and shepherd them to their parent’s waiting cars or into the house, and they are stumbling bleary eyed to collapse into their beds. Adaine only wakes up as Jawbone gently sets her down on to her bed and pulls the blankets around her. She mumbles incoherently, and he chuckles and kisses her on the forehead, saying “Good night kiddo. I’ll see you in the morning”. He turns to descend the tower’s stairs and sees Aelwen standing somewhat hesitantly in the doorway. He nods to her and whispers, “You need anything you let Ol’ Jawbone know okay? I’m glad you’re here”. He pulls her into a quick, warm hug, and she only stiffens a tad, before heading down the stairs and closing the door behind him. Adaine, her hair mussed and eyes bleary, sits up slightly and shifts over on the bed, again mumbling something unintelligible as she motions for Aelwen to join her. She slides into the bed beside Adaine, but before she can say anything, her sister is already out like a light. Aelwen smiles and casts an abjurative ward around them, then settles down to sleep a deep, blissfully dreamless sleep.


	2. Aelwen & Adaine

“Adaine is there even enough room for all of us in this, what is this, a van?”

  
She sighs and rolls her eyes, not even looking up at her sister as she finishes packing Boggy in his backpack, preparing to load up for the drive home.

  
“Yeah Aelwen, it’s a van. A magic van. It’s a little crowded but Kristen hallowed it so its not all that bad”.

  
There’s an unexpected silence where Adaine would usually expect Aelwen to unleash another barb. She looks up from where she’s kneeling over Boggy’s backpack to see a distant, sad expression across her sister’s face. It shadows her eyes for just a second, and Adaine can practically see the walls going back up with reinforcements in her mind as Aelwen snips, “Well if there’s not enough room I guess I can just be dragged along from the tailpipe. I’m sure your friends would love to see me get what I deserve”, with a short vicious laugh.

  
Adaine looks away hiding the pain that flits across her face as her heart aches for her sister. She takes in a deep breath and stands, dusting off her jeans.

  
“Let me show you what the hallow does. We can have a whole compartment to ourselves”.

  
She swings Boggy over shoulder and picks up Aelwen’s pitifully small backpack. All Aelwen had left was in her worn, soot stained school bag. The faded patches of Hudal’s school crest, a club pin from the Hudal Duelists' Society are stark reminders of the fact that even though she was older than Adaine, she was still so young. Just a kid still. But she had never met the Bad Kids, she had never been spoken kindly to by Jawbone. No kind hand had ever been extended to her, so why would she ever reach out?

  
They piled into the van with the rest of the bad kids, all gangly limbs tripping over each other in a rush to claim their favourite seats. A fierce game of paper rock scissors broke out as Riz and Fabian both vied for the passenger seat as Gorgug sat in the driver’s seat and carefully adjusted all of the mirrors. Adaine pushed through the chaos to the first bench, grabbing Aelwen’s hand behind her as they almost became separated by the whirling dervish of Fig attempting to referee Riz and Fabian by suggesting they duel, all three of them shouting seemingly as loud as possible. She doesn’t let go of her hand as she unfurls a divine purple curtain from between the second and third seat sections, patterned with infinte silvery stars. She grins at the bemused look on Aelwen’s face and grips her hand tighter as, with a flourish she steps forward and pulls the curtain shut behind them, and suddenly the chorus of nonsense is quieted and they are standing in a small but comfortable compartment. The farthest wall is unchanged, containing the large van window. In the spot where there was once just the third section of the bench seat is a plush futon, seemingly constructed out of a patchwork of blankets. There is a small space underneath the futon to stash their bags between the tightly rolled black blankets that make up the legs, and small shelf hanging on the curtain wall behind the futon, also woven out of blankets, that has comforters and pillows stacked upon it. While the three curtain walls are all the same dark purple night skies, shimmering softly with divine magic, the rest of the blankets that make up this extradimensional fort are a hodgepodge of all the linens you’ve ever used while away from home. There’s the scratchy pink wool blanket with satin trim your friend’s mum gave you at a sleepover, the ratty old patchwork quilt your grandma tucked you into, even the thin felt blanket tucked into your seat pocket on a long flight. While Aelwen inspects the motley construction of this pocket of the Hallow, Adaine finishes tucking their bags underneath the edge of the futon and sets Boggy on the soft armrest where he croaks happily. She leans back and hugs one of the pillows that had been sitting on the seat when they walked in. Its an exact replica of one of Jawbone’s sweaters that he had bundled up and tucked under her head the first night she had stayed at his apartment, apologizing profusely as he hadn’t been able to buy proper pillows yet. Aelwen sits down next to her, hesitating slightly as though the bench might fall out from under her. Adaine looks at her, smiling slightly. Aelwen settles back, deciding that this strange blanketed futon was safe to relax on, and glances at her sister.

“Ok yes its pretty cool.”

  
“I told you! I was hoping you’d like it.”

  
“Well I don’t know that I’d say I like it yet-“

  
There’s a polite knock on the curtained doorway- or rather they see the curtain push inwards as though someone were gently tapping it and hear someone say “Knock Knock”.

  
“Yes?” Adaine leans forwards.

  
The curtain is pulled to the side slightly and Fabian sticks his head in.

  
“Ah, Adaine and, uh Aelwen. We’re um about to get going and Gorgug says we’ll probably go straight through to Elmville. So last call for like not being stuck in a van, or whatever.”

  
“Are you going to be ‘stuck in the van’? I thought you had that weird flaming motorcycle.”

  
Fabian’s cheeks flush slightly as Aelwen addresses him directly. He shrugs and shakes his head, flicking his hair back in an assumed attempt at casualness.

  
“Well, uh, yeah, usually I’d ride the Hangman, but he’s you know, still kind of hurt, and you know, I was going to maybe nap or something, which I don’t uh do usually but you know-“

  
Adaine groans internally and does her best to surpress an eye roll. “Yeah we’re good to go, thanks Fabian”.

  
Fabian nods and disappears as he steps back and lets the curtain fall back.

  
Aelwen turns to find Adaine staring at her with an eyebrow cocked.

  
“What? I think he’s cute. Plus he’s so fun to mess with.”

  
Adaine sighs. “Please don’t flirt soullessly with my friends.”

  
“Maybe I actually like him. Maybe I do have a soul, though its doubtful.”

  
“I didn’t mean that-“

  
“I mean, youre not wrong Adaine.”

  
Aelwen’s light sarcastic tone doesn’t immediately evoke frustration and rage in Adaine like it once did. While the Sibling Instinct to cast an annoying spell is still there, its now overshadowed by the memory of the blasted wasteland of Aelwen’s broken mind she had walked through. That version, the version of her sister that she held trembling and weak, is still there, superimposed under the calculating, acerbic, self-loathing sister that’s currently beside her. She takes a deep breath.

  
“Aelwen I want you to stay. When we get back to Elmville, I want you to stay with me at Mordred Manor.”

  
She looks mildly surprised at her younger sister, but says nothing as Adaine continues.

  
“There’s not- our house was burnt to the ground. There’s nothing left, its just an empty ashy lot now. And our parents are gone. However horrid they were, their existence and our house meant that we knew what our lives were. We had structure, safety. And that’s all gone now. There’s nothing. And that’s terrifying. We’re walking forward now and we can’t see the ground beneath us.  
But I’m here. Do you understand?”

  
She takes Aelwens hand.

  
“I am here for you. I want you to be here. I want you to know that no matter what you will always have a home with me, wherever I am. That is something that nothing and no one can take away. Okay?  
And I won’t lie to you, I am scared. I am so, so scared. I don’t want to be the Elven Oracle, I don’t want them to use me. I’m scared that someone will try to take you away from me. And I’m scared that you won’t stay. So please stay. Please stay Aelwen. Stay with me and be my big sister.”

  
Tears are falling hot and fast from Aelwen’s eyes, leaving tear trails down her checks that are mirrored on Adaine’s face. She pulls her baby sister into a tight hug, leaning across the bench and burying herself in Adaine’s shoulder.

  
“I’ll stay. And I’m not going to leave again”

“I bet Jawbone can make us a bunk-bed. I always wished we had bunk beds when we were little-“

  
“I call top bunk.”

  
“Hey! No fair!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a personal note on how I've written Adaine and Aelwen- I'm writing from my own experiences of being raised in an abusive household and how that has affected my relationship with my older sibling. Therefore, their thoughts/feelings/conversations are in no way intended to be a universal examination of siblings, but rather an investigation of my own feelings through the conduit of characters I care for and relate to deeply. Take care of yourselves <3


	3. Riz & Gorgug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riz and Gorgug bond over having to be the only ones in the van paying attention.

The low growl of the van’s engine was incessant and numbing- a constant that had been going on for so long without variation Riz felt it had fully drilled through his ears and replaced his brain with cotton. He closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards, hoping for a momentary lapse from the reality of being trapped for so long. They had been on a flat straight highway for the past hour and a half, with nothing out the windows but empty fields. The next time Gorgug would need him to navigate wouldn’t be for something like 35 miles, so there was truly nothing to set his mind on.

“Riz, are you okay? You can take a nap if you want, I think I’m okay for directions for a while.”

Riz blearily opened one eye to see Gorgug glancing over at him from the driver’s seat with a look of concern.

“What are you, the Nightmare King?” Riz mumbles grumpily, barely comprehensible.

“What? What do you mean?”

Riz sighs and opens his eyes, leaning forward and drawing both of his legs up on to the seat to sit cross-legged. “You know how we had to always move towards our greatest fears in the forest? Well, in order to keep going, one of the things I had to do was climb into bed and take a freaking nap.” He snorts, “Isn’t that the dumbest shit?”

“I don’t think its dumb”, Gorgug says quietly.

Riz laughs bitterly, “Kristen fricking died, Adaine fully killed her dad. I took a nap. Its stupid dude”.

“Well, I don’t know-“

“What did you have to do? I bet it was harder than a spooky scary nap”, Riz spits out mockingly.

There’s a moment of quiet. Gorgug is looking out towards the horizon. He turns on the blinker and moves into the left lane to overtake a lone motorcyclist. In the stillness, Riz hears his harsh words, but just as he opens his mouth to begin an apology, Gorgug speaks.

“I guess mine wasn’t really scary? Like it sucked, but I don’t know that I was scared. Maybe I don’t really know what scary is cause l mean I went to hell and that was scary so maybe my idea of what’s scary is sort of messed up? I did have to crawl through these tunnels that kept getting smaller and smaller which was scary but I just sorta… did it. And then there was this big bug guarding a locked door, but the lock was like a puzzle on the door. And I had to solve the puzzle to open the door or else the bug would eat me. So I tried to figure it out, but I kept on messing up and it was sorta frustrating and when I messed up the bug like showed me a memory? Or something like that? But it was of when my parents adopted me. Their families were really upset and said that I was a mistake and they shouldn’t adopt me. But my mom and dad told them to leave and haven’t talked to them since.”

“I’m… so sorry Gorgug. I didn’t know that, about your parents.”

Gorgug shrugs.

"its not really a huge thing? I knew my parents didn't talk to their family. And they explained it to me when I was younger and asked them about it. So when the bug told me it didn't hurt that bad? Like I was sorta sad, but I was more so sad that my friends were gone? I didn't know where you guys were and I was sorta frustrated that I couldn’t figure out this bug puzzle, cause not figuring out the puzzle meant I couldn’t help you guys. So it was just even more bad feelings. But that’s sort of why I don’t think that you having to sleep is a dumb thing. Cause if you’re alone and don’t know where your friends are and you want to help them, going to sleep probably feels like you’re letting them down. So its easy to blame yourself for anything that happens to them while you’re asleep. I’d say that’s pretty scary.”

Riz considers Gorgug’s words as he gazes out the windshield. The setting sun glints off a road sign that reads “ELMVILLE- RIGHT LANE ONLY”. He was right- Riz pausing for something like sleep when his friends were at risk is completely against every instinct he has. The thought of his negligence resulting in his friends getting hurt is terrifying. Riz comes to a realization:

“This is our exit right here, we have to get in the right lane.”

“Shit.”

Gorgug smashes on his blinker and wrenches the wheel to the right. A motorcycle, missed by him even with his danger sense, shoots forward, narrowly avoiding being pit manoeuvred by the minivan. The rider, dressed in all black leathers, swerves in front of the van and slows slightly until their back wheel is just in front of the van's front bumper. They stand atop their bike and balance on the seat, Teen Wolf style, then raise a hand and shoot a sickly green ray of flame at the van.

The two heroes leap into action. Gorgug flies into a rage, letting his instincts take over to weave the van, dodging blasts of abyssal magic from the Rider. Riz undoes his seatbelt and stands up, leaning out the window to level his gun at the rider. His first shot sparks off the pavement, but his second grazes the back wheel. The bike wobbles, and the rider crouches down in order to avoid tumbling off. The momentary unsteadiness gives Riz and Gorgug time to lock eyes and silently agree on a plan. Gorgug slams down onto the gas and the van creeps up next to the bike, the engine whining as it’s pushed to its limits. Riz takes a deep breath and leaps out the van window.

A chill, lo-fi hip hop song plays. Fabian rests his chin on the crook of his elbow, turned completely around in his seat and leaning on the backrest, listening to Ragh.

“Yeah man, its like. My mom never said anything homophobic or anything, and when I came out to her, she was 100% supportive, but its like. I was still nervous cause it had never been like explicitly stated that it was okay for me to be gay? Like I probably still would’ve had trouble coming to terms with it cause of all the stuff with Dane, but I think hearing her say that it was okay _before_ she knew I was gay would’ve helped.”

Fabian nods, “Yeah, yeah I get that dude. Like its nice to really hear it out loud, and be able to say ‘okay, this is normal. this is okay.’”.

“Yeah exactly! You get it dude. You want some more Bugles?”

Riz is standing on the back of the motorcycle, his gun hanging at his side. He has grappled the Rider into a headlock. Sharp claws, emerging from the spiked leather gloves of the rider gouge his forearms. He cries out, and locks onto the Rider even tighter, then throws his body weight backwards, releasing his hold at the last possible second in an attempt to throw his opponent off the back of the bike. He lands hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Gasping for breath, he flips himself forward on his stomach and reaches for the throttle. Just before his shaking fingers reach the handlebars, he feels claws in his calf and is yanked backwards. The Rider is hanging off the back of the bike, screaming as they attempt to pull themselves back up. Riz can feel himself being pulled back- he fumbles for the gun at his side and it nearly slips out of his grasp and shatters onto the pavement that is rushing by at 85 miles an hour, but he is able to grab it. Riz raises the gun and levels it at the rider, whose eyes widen with fear as they stare down the barrel of the gun.

“My papa was pretty open about his exploits with people- and tornadoes- of all genders. So it was clear that if I told him I wasn’t straight, he would be fine with it. But what held me back more was the expectation that to be his son, I had to live up to these sort of masculine ideals. So when I started dancing, it was just so freeing to not have to try and be that type of person anymore.”

“Hell yeah dude, I hear you. And let me just say, like dude- I’m seriously proud of you. It has been an honour and a privilege to see you come into your own. Hoot growl dude.”

“Thanks, Ragh. Hoot growl.”

Riz holsters his smoking gun and turns around just in time to see the rapidly approaching concrete divider he’s about to slam into. He closes his eyes to prepare for the impact, but it never comes. Riz feels himself float into the air, the wind swirling underneath him. He opens his eyes.

Gorgug has leaned the entire front half of his body out the window. One hand is steadying the wheel, while the other is gripping Riz by the back of his shirt. Concentrating on the road ahead as he’s still driving, Gorgug yells, “Riz! I got you! Spring Break!”

“Spring break!” Riz replies breathlessly. Gorgug pulls him back into the van and deposits him back into the passenger seat. He comes out of his rage and they both sit dazed for a second, breathing heavily as they process what the hell even just happened.

“So we definitely missed the exit.”

“Yup.”

“I guess just get off here and we’ll backtrack?”

Gorgug nods and turns onto the exit ramp, noticing the burning motorcycle wreckage in the rear-view mirror.

Fabian pops his head over the center console, “Hey, why are we turning around?”

Riz stares dumbfounded at Fabian. “So you notice that but not… never mind. We missed the exit so we have to backtrack a little”.

“You missed the exit? I thought you were navigating, The Ball.”

Riz lowers his head to rest with a thud on the dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is definitely a little sillier and more light-hearted than the last one, but I was writing the Kristen and Tracker chapter (which will come next) and I made myself too sad, so I took a break and had a little lad adventure instead. I also struggled to have this be a heart-felt talk with the boys cause I'm not comfortable writing in their voices really. But I still think it turned out nice and fun! thanks for reading <3


	4. Kristen & Tracker

Kristen lay with her head in Tracker’s lap, her feet kicked up on some blankets, watching the light of passing streetlamps play across her scarred legs and torn jorts. She had drifted off to sleep at some point, cozy and warm in her hallow with the love of her life. The last thing she remembered was Tracker pausing from playing with her hair to gently press a kiss to her forehead, and then she was off, hazily wandering the ethereal plane. As Kristen’s brain reconstituted on the prime material and she found herself fully awake, she noticed that not only were Tracker’s long slender fingers no longer entwined with her curls, Tracker felt incredibly still beneath her. This was not the comforting quiet of tired muscles and sleepy thoughts, but rather the stillness of a bow pulled taught, arrow nocked, waiting for the shot to line up with the exposed throat of unwitting prey.

“Babe? You okay?”

Tracker trembled slightly at her words and Kristen heard a quiet sniffle. Kristen sat up fully and turned to look at her girlfriend, worry creasing her freckled brow.

“Tracker what’s going on?”

She could see tears forming in Tracker’s eyes. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t make eye contact with Kristen, instead hurriedly pulling the sleeves of her flannel down over her hands and furiously scrubbing her eyes, only suspending the fall of a few tears as they spilled out of her long brown lashes and down her cheeks.

“Its nothing Kristen, sorry, I’m just tired-“

“Its obviously not nothing Tracker tell me what’s going on, what’s hap-“

She leaned forward to do something- take Tracker’s hand, pull her into a hug, anything to quell the fear rising within her of seeing someone she loved hurting- but as she began to move, Tracker flinched violently away.

Kristen immediately stopped moving, even as every instinct in her screamed to grab Tracker, _you’re going to lose her you’re going to lose her_ -

“I’m sorry I’m sorry Kristen I’m sorry-“

_You’re going to lose her_

“I’m sorry I’m-”

_You’re going to lose her_

“Kristen please I’m so sorry-“

Hot, wet tears fell on to her shaking hands. Her fingernails dug into her palms, hard enough to leave crescent marks that, tomorrow morning, Tracker will run her fingers over and think of the moon, held by the night sky. Tomorrow morning, they will lie together on the roof of Mordred Manor and the sun will paint glowing halos around them and they will be warm & they will be home & they will be each other’s home. But in this moment, Tracker is within herself, building a labyrinth around the fears she’s held her whole life, and Kristen is lost and can’t read the map, drawn by studying the look in Tracker’s eyes when she thought no one could see.

No one could see her while Kristen had been napping. Tracker had been trying to distract herself while her girlfriend slept. She had long since run out of mindless scrolling on her crystal, had braided and un-braided a tiny twist of Kristen’s hair over and over again. Found an old marker in the pocket of her denim jacket and coloured in as much of the white rubber around the edges of her shoes as she could until it dried out. Doing whatever she could to not sit still and think. Think about how Kristen had fallen asleep with her. How she could feel safe doing that while the scars from Tracker’s claws are still visible, disrupting the constellations of freckles on her arms.

If she could, Tracker would run. Rip the curtains down, shred the blankets. Be the monster she felt she was. Run and run and run until the soles of her feet wear away, until her muscles tear. Until she is a bloody heart in a wiry broke down frame, until she is nothing.

She never intended to endanger anyone this way, to be so close to someone whose body would give way beneath her fangs. She had sworn that to herself, Afterwards. She vowed to the moon disappearing below the horizon and the dawn breaking, that no one would feel the tearing of their flesh, the pain pulse in their veins, the ghost of a scream in a throat too ragged to make a sound.

The first full moon After, she had slunk out of her room with her backpack, moving quietly and quickly through the living room. Opened the front door and paused for a moment on the step. They didn’t deserve to have to deal with her. She was already such a burden, even Before. They’d always said so, anyways, and she couldn’t imagine what they’d say if they knew what she was now. It was better for her to just leave. They might worry, and look for a bit, but she would pass trough their memory, out of their lives, quickly and quietly.

Getting to a secluded spot in the woods wasn’t hard. She passed over the train tracks, scrambling up and over the embankment, gravel tearing at her palms, fresh dust on her tattered jeans. Into the woods, past the scattered beer cans and fire pit, past the dead trees riddled with bullet holes and the carpet of empty shells. The noise of the highway finally fading, the dead leaves underfoot giving way to dense bayberry bushes, the pale blue bunches relinquishing their hold into her hands. The bayberries surrounded a clearing, sheltering it from the rest of the forest. The ancient oak tree that had once watched over this haven was long gone, but its prostrate trunk provided a stable rest for Tracker to lean her back up against. It was late afternoon. She’d usually be walking home from school, taking the long way home. Checking on the stray cat that hangs out by the video store. Trying to match her steps to the concrete squares in the sidewalk, hopping over the cracks. Playing childish games. Not anymore.

She pulled her backpack towards her and unzipped it, yanked out a thin sleeping bag, bought begrudgingly by her parents for the Moon Scouts camping trip, and unrolled it onto the dry leaf litter. Carefully, reverently, she lifted out her tape player, cheap plastic held together by stickers. She laid down and stared up at the fall leaves, their hues mirrored by the edges of the sky as day gave way to night. As she covered her ears with the bulky headphones, she closed her eyes and disappeared. Here, she knew she couldn’t hurt anybody. Here, she knew nobody could hurt her.

(Every time she had to stop and flip the tape, she held her breath, praying the burning in her lungs would fill the silence well enough to keep the sobs in her throat, the thoughts out of her head. When she came to the next morning, covered in dirt with twigs in her hair and dried blood in her teeth, she would brush herself off, pack up, and keep walking. The whole of November passed by this way. The first full moon in December, Jawbone would notice a shivering wolf pup in the woods behind Cravencroft. He would see the way her ribs stuck through her fur, and he would trot away and return with a McQwonald’s bag he stole from the drive-thru window. He would drop it in front of her and then step back, and Tracker would see someone who wouldn’t be hurt by her. Someone who wouldn’t hurt her.)

But now she was as far away from a quiet clearing in the woods as she could possibly be. And there was only Kristen here. Kristen, who she could hurt. Kristen, who she had hurt. Kristen, who was just lying there, delicate skin of her throat exposed as though she wasn’t next to a monster. Tracker realized how little air there was in her lungs and tried to take a full breath quietly but could only pull in air through her nose in tiny rapid quantities. She could hear blood pounding in her head as she tried to breathe and tried to breathe and tried to breathe-

“Babe? You okay?”

Tracker flinched, her impossibly taut muscles pulling all her bones inwards, desperately attempting to shrink her. The moment of unpreparedness caught her off guard, and the silent hyperventilation was betrayed by an auditory sniffle.

“Tracker what’s going on?”

Kristen’s eyes were still warm and sleepy, her head cocked slightly to the side as it always did whenever she was trying to figure something out. The tenderness in her voice, the way her hands naturally gravitated to take Trackers, all of it said “I see you. I hear you. I want to know you”. The pain in her chest felt deadly. She wanted to scream. Instead, she clenched her jaw and raised her fists to her eyes, pressing into them with the sleeves of her flannel, “Its nothing Kristen, sorry, I’m just tired”, her voice breaks.

“Its obviously not nothing Tracker, tell me what’s going on, what’s hap-“

She leaned forward to take Tracker’s hand in hers, as though it wasn’t dripping with Kristen’s own blood, as though it was soft skin rather than rough fur and unforgiving claws. Tracker flinches away, drawing all of her limbs inwards. Kristen stops, apparently realizing she was reaching for a foul creature as fear fills her eyes. Even as Tracker feels some sick pride that Kristen figured out the truth about her, the undeniable fact that Kristen was afraid of her crystallizes within her and something breaks. Tracker begins sobbing, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around her head, only able to repeat herself, even as her mind speaks cold truths to her.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry Kristen I’m sorry-“

_You hurt her._

“I’m sorry I’m-“

_You hurt her._

“Kristen please I’m so sorry-“

_You hurt her, so she’s going to hurt you._

Kristen looks at her girlfriend. She is cowering, pushing away and pulling towards, a collapsing star. Dissolving into herself. She can see the fear eating into her, but none of the wounds are new. The fear isn’t external, its coming from deep within her, from old scars. Older than when she attacked Kristen, older than when she had her control taken away in the Nightmare King’s forest. Older still, from when she first met Kirsten, first allowed herself to be close to someone besides Jawbone since she contracted lycanthropy. Looking at Tracker, at the vicious serpents of fear wrapping around her throat, whispering in her ear, Kristen sees her. A kid, whose worst fears don’t loom in the shadows under her bed, but in the living room when she accidentally breaks a vase. At the kitchen table, when a glass is thrown and shatters against the wall. When she shouts back, when she stands up for herself, when she fights, and it is so much worse. She isn’t allowed to hurt anyone. She is allowed to hurt. If she hurts someone, they hurt her. They scream at her, they bite her.

Kristen sees this, and all she wants to do is hold Tracker in her arms and never let her be hurt ever again, tell her that she will be loved, that she is loved. But want alone cannot pull the venom from the fangs of fear. Kristen begins to breathe, deeply, loud enough that the slow inhales and exhales can be heard over the gut-wrenching sobs and repeated apologies. She sees Tracker notice her, sees her begin to try and imitate Kristen. Inhale, exhale. Again. Her breath still catches in her throat, but it slows.

Kristen speaks, low and gentle, “Hey Tracker. I’m right here. You’re okay. You’re next to me. We’re in the Hangvan, we’re on our way back home.”

Tracker’s arms are still over her eyes, holding her head down to her knees, which are pulled up to her chest. She nods slightly, responding to Kristen even as she still struggles to bring her breathing into a rhythm.

“You’re doing really good, Tracker, you’re doing good. I’m going to put my hand on your back, is that okay?”

Again, a slight nod. Inhale, breath catch, inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Kristen shuffles over on the blankets until her hip is right next to, but not touching, Trackers. She gently places her hand between Tracker’s shoulder blades. She can feel the muscle there tense slightly under her palm, but as she doesn’t move it slowly relaxes and softens. Kristen begins rubbing light circles into Tracker’s back, still exaggerating her breathing to give Tracker something to focus on. They stay in that moment for a while, the steady rhythm of Kristen’s hand accompanying her breath, as Tracker’s body slowly unfurls. The fear saps out of her, leaving her body sore and shaking. Tracker finally lifts her head and looks at Kristen.

Before she can say anything, Kristen pulled her close, arms wrapped around her shoulders and hanging on to her so tight. She had given her love to Tracker- given her space, understanding, help, time.

And it didn’t run out, and it wouldn’t run out.

Love doesn’t run out, it is not a finite resource. It is not earned, it is given. Willingly, freely, joyfully. It is given on Saturday nights as easily as Tuesday afternoons. And they will learn this.

They will learn that love was not in their childhood homes, but they will find it in each other. In the ways they seek to know each other, to let themselves be known. They’ll realize that the home they built for each other is blood and bone, and they will love it.

They will be okay.

They will be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> usually, i listen to sophmore year while writing, but a viral shrimp party wasn't a great backdrop for this chapter, so this one was brought to you by my depressing gay punk playlist and the sound of rain on the street outside. this was a rough one, i wrote this chapter 3 different ways, but i ended up happy with how it turned out. and don't worry, the last chapter is much fluffier! if you're reading this i love you <3


	5. Fig & Ayda

In Ayda’s opinion, it is far too early in the morning to get up. With the sun having just barely crested the horizon, she saw no reason why she should be forced to get up from the warm blanket nest she shared with her paramour. Of course, there was a reason to get up so early and that was so that she and the rest of the bad kids and their entourage could get in the van and continue their journey to Elmville. And in Ayda’s mind, this was an extremely worthwhile cause, so with ruffled feathers she roused herself.

They met up with everyone else downstairs in the lobby and had a quick breakfast that was decidedly _not_ continental- all of the available foods originated from this continent, there were no slabs of elven waybread from Fallinel, only croissants, which were from the Barronnies. Ayda would surely have reached the bottom of this carbohydrate conspiracy, but as she posited these conundrums out loud to Fig, she explained that, while Ayda was correct that this breakfast was Not Great, to this shitty Bastion City hotel, a continental breakfast just meant that it was included with the price of the room.

It came time for them all to load up into the van. Her father’s gift of a door between Leviathan and Fig’s house wouldn’t become active until it was opened from the other side- a feature added to this spell after centuries of wizards were politely asked to stop opening up interdimensional portals in people’s homes without notifying them. She supposed she could have waited in Leviathan until Fig got home and opened the door, but that would be precious time lost for them to hang out without being in deadly combat with some foes. Plus she was rather excited to partake in a road trip- her first one, as pirates tended to prefer voyages or odysseys where the threat of death by kraken or hubris loomed at any moment. Ayda was quite frankly tired of death, both her own and the dying of those around her, so the thought of a long day spent in the relative safety of a beat-up old van was appealing. There was one aspect of the ride that she found daunting, however, and that was the prospect of spending time with Fig's parents in a situation where Fig couldn't skateboard away.

“Guys, there is a super simple solution to this. If you want to figure out who gets the front seat, Riz, you and Fabian just need to fight to the death, and whoever loses I can just bring back” Fig strummed the first few chords of the revivify spell and raised her eyebrows at the two boys arguing in front of her.

“Fig, no offense, but that is a _terrible_ idea.”

“Oh, just afraid you’ll lose, The Ball?”

“Are you insane? Are you _possessed_? _Again?_ We just spent _two weeks_ fighting for our _lives_ and now we’re just gonna _fight_..”

Fig tuned out from Riz’s diatribe against her extremely good idea as she noticed Ayda standing near the back of the van with all of their bags, her fiery eyes narrowed in concentration as she flipped rapidly through her spellbook. She reached the end of the book, scanning the last few pages, then stashed it back in its holster before pulling out its twin, and flipping through it with the same intensity. Fig shouldered past the two boys, ignoring Fabian’s cry that they still needed her to referee their deathmatch, and headed towards Ayda.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Ayda was still buried in her spell book, flipping rapidly through the pages, and didn’t yet acknowledge Fig, but her fiery hair flared up briefly and left a trail of sparks as Fig spoke. Fig waited patiently for Ayda to reach the end of the book and sigh, furrowing her brow as she slipped the book back into its holster and turned to face Fig.

“I need your help.”

“I guessed by how intensely you were reading there. What’s up?”

Ayda sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, holding on to her elbows, “I had hoped that I would find something in my notes that could help me prepare for this situation, but it seems I have yet again disappointed myself”.

“Hey, you’re not a disappointment Ayda,” Fig gently chided, smiling as she laid a hand on Ayda’s arm. “Trust me, I’ve certainly never been disappointed by you.” She winked.

Ayda made a quick somatic gesture at Fig’s wink, and when Adaine’s spell took hold, she blushed furiously and once again, a plume of flame licked up the side of the van next to them.

“Ah. Nice. Very nice. But in this case, I am not quite worried about disappointing you, per se.” Her gaze drifted across the gravel lot, near the front entrance of the hotel. Gilear was inside checking their party out while Sandra Lynn stood just outside, patting Baxter the griffin and preparing to lead him into the rented trailer attached to the Hangvan’s trailer hitch.

“It is very rare for me to meet someone’s parents, let alone sit next to them in a van for an extended period of time. Most pirates never knew their parents, or they killed them for fame, glory, and gold- it’s a pirate island, everyone there has ‘daddy issues’ as I believe Kristen referred to them as. And I believe Gorgug’s is the only van that has ever been on Leviathan. Anyways I couldn’t find any notes in my book that would help with this. And… it is very important to me that your parents… like me.”

Ayda locked eyes with Fig and saw her eyes soften. She gently squeezed Ayda’s arm. “My parents already like you Ayda. They love you. Not only because you are a marked improvement in the romantic entanglements department, but because you’re _you._ You are brilliant and kind and wonderful and literally the coolest person on any plane of existence.”

The scorch marks on the Hangvan indicated that even if Ayda didn’t necessarily fully believe these things about herself, she still felt a great swell of love and pride and confidence from hearing Fig say them.

“Plus, I know you haven’t really gotten to spend any time with them when, you know, Gilear isn’t dead and my mom isn’t possessed and trying to kill me, but I actually think you’d have a lot in common? Like they’re easy to talk to. Gilear is… well, Gilear. Definitely not intimidating, but he actually is pretty good at making people feel comfortable. I mean, he is vice-principal, and he is wayyy better than the last one.”

Ayda frowned. “Wasn’t your last vice-principal the Emperor of the Red Wastes? The dread dragon Calvaxius?”

“I mean, yes, but anyways. Don’t worry about hangin’ with Gilear. You’ll be fine.”

“What about your mother? I don’t know much about her besides that she slept with my friend Garthy O’Brien. And that she broke up with her boyfriend Jawbone. I tried very hard not to eavesdrop on her break-up with Mr. Jawbone, but it was difficult to avoid considering I was casting the sending spell for her. Which was strange because in a way I broke up with Jawbone? It was very confusing and I did not like it.”

Fig winced. “I didn’t realize that she used you to talk to Jawbone, that’s… woof. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“I won’t lie, it was extremely awkward. But your mother apologized profusely and said she was very grateful. Plus, I was happy to do it, because at that time, I had not yet declared my interest in you, but it was on my mind, so the desire for Sandra Lynn to like me was worth it.” She rested her hand over Fig’s and intertwined their fingers, “It’s all been worth it.”

There was a jaunty tinkling of bells as the hotel door closed behind Gilear. He surveyed the dusty parking lot in front of him- Fig and Ayda holding hands next to the small mountain of dusty backpacks and duffel bags; Fabian and Riz, head to head in a vicious bout of rock paper scissors with Ragh refereeing, ensuring blood wasn’t shed; Gorgug already in the driver’s seat, tinkering with the rear-view mirror to add a dangling charm he’d made of two silver ram’s horns in the shape of a heart; Aelwen leaning against the front hood with her arms crossed while Adaine packed Boggy in his backpack; and Kristen and Tracker nowhere in sight. He sighed, then cleared his throat and spoke in his slow, somber way, “Attention, children. I have checked us out from the hotel so we should now get in the van and start driving before the owner charges me for even more nights than he already has. I haggled him down from paying for two extra nights, and by haggled, I mean I started crying when my visa debit card was declined, and he took pity on me and only charged me for one extra night.”

Gilear’s remarkable talent to speak at a frequency undetectable by teens unless they were actively looking to bully him meant that not one of the bad kids even glanced in his direction. Sandra Lynn, who had been forced to attune to Gilear’s monotonic frequency as a result of being married to him, sighed at his attempt. She finished adjusting Baxter’s halter and put two fingers in her mouth, then let fly a piercing whistle that immediately silenced the parking lot. The teens turned to look at her. Kristen and Tracker popped up from behind a bush at the edge of the lot.

“I swear to god Kristen Applebees… Okay everybody, in the van! Let’s go, next stop Elmville!” The sonic waves of Mom Voice kickstarted everybody into action. Luggage was loaded, seatbelts were fastened, Baxter was nestled in a warm bed of straw in the rented trailer, and within five minutes, the little entourage was out on the open road.

Somehow, as the van pulled out of the parking lot, Ayda found herself in the far back of the van, window on her left and the Faeths on her right. She was extremely grateful that Fig was still holding her hand as both Gilear and Sandra Lynn turned to look at her.

“So, Ayda. We finally have a bit of time to get to know you.”

Ayda cast comprehend subtext using a 6th level spell slot.

There were many reasons Fig was exceptionally grateful for her parents, the first being just how numerous they were, and the second being how unabashedly kind they were to Ayda and unafraid to hide their enthusiasm about her girlfriend. Never having actually dated someone before, she was nervous about the fabled ‘shovel talk’ she had seen in movies and shows. Although she couldn’t picture Gilear intimidating anyone, it was more the idea that her parents were obligated to dislike whomever she dated. Luckily, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Although Sandra Lynn did question Ayda, it was less of an interrogation and more just doing her due diligence as a mom to find out if a powerful semi-immortal teen wizard who raised herself multiple times on an island filled with dirty pirates was doing okay considering she was now dating an Average Teen and would probably be hanging out at a mall more often than a celestial pirate brothel.

Fig smiled as she watched her mom and Ayda chat. Sandra Lynn’s eyes had lit up when Ayda mentioned that she ran the observatory at Compass Points. One of her specialties as a ranger was astronavigation, and her journals were filled with copies of star charts from all across Spyre. As Fig leaned across the seat with her back against Ayda’s chest and her legs kicked up in her mom’s lap, she let her eyes close, awash in their excited comparisons of favourite constellations and what rare comets they had seen. The steady heat of her girlfriend against her back resonated throughout this moment, the warmth of contentment and of families made and chosen and chosen again felt in all of their hearts.

Fig dreamt of the stars. She unraveled Andromeda’s chains, was carried swiftly by Auriga into the bright gash of the galaxy that bled out of the inky nothingness. She saw her mother, astride the mighty Pegasus. She saw her lover, drawing the blade from Orion’s belt. Maybe they all had destinies. Maybe they would be the next heroes scribed in the skies. And the stars would sing their victories, and weep for their losses. Their stories would shift across the night sky, bright beacons of hope for those that sought solace in the dark. And one day, in that dark and lonely night that was made bright by their stories, wishes would be whispered on the satellites crossing the sky. And they would be answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and its done! i am so so extremely grateful for everybody that has read this, commented, left kudos. it truly means the world to me. I never thought i would be able to write, let alone post, fanfics, but the d20 fandom is so incredibly kind and enthusiastic and welcoming. This fic is a comfort blanket for me, but its also a love letter to the show and the fandom. so thank you, for being you! <3


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